


How You Gonna Go?

by madame_meretrix (laisserais)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Crimes & Criminals, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Gunplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/madame_meretrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rated: NC-17<br/>Warnings: bondage, dub-con, gun!kink, daddy!kink, depictions of crime syndicates and criminal behavior, references to family members<br/>Disclaimer: so not real.</p><p>Description: Written for the kink meme <a>prompt</a>:</p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <i>Alan Ackles is a cruel and ruthless man and he ruins Jeff and his business. Filled with rage, desperate and out for revenge Jeff kidnaps Alan´s son Jensen to hold him for ransom. What he hasn´t expected is that Jensen is a teasing and pretty young man who hates his dad and would happily team up with Jeff.</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote>A/N: Title taken from <i>Guns of Brixton</i> by The Clash.
            </blockquote>





	How You Gonna Go?

Jeff double checks the safety, even though he knows it's off and kicks the door in. Helpfully, Jensen's standing in the foyer and he puts his hands up when the Glock points at his head.

Less helpfully, he's naked except for socks the guy whose lips are wrapped around his dick.

“On your knees,” Jeff snarls, and the one who's already there squeaks in terror, scrabbling away from the gun.

Jensen hits the ground and puts his hands on his head as though it's routine; hell, maybe in his world it is.

So far he hasn't made a peep, even though his cock is bobbing against his stomach.

His friend is a different story: “Please don't kill me please don't kill me take whatever you want just please--” Jeff shuts him up by cracking the butt of the gun between his eyes. He goes down like a sack of potatoes.

He trains the gun on Jensen, who's smirking at him, dick still rock hard. “You, up.” Jeff throws a pair of jeans at him. “Put these on, we're going for a ride.”

The kid takes his time, making sure he doesn't get caught in the zipper. Jeff doesn't get distracted, but he does let himself look. His eyes slide over the sack of potatoes; a witness is an unplanned-for contingency, and as he dangles the cuffs from a finger, motioning Jensen to turn around, he wonders if he should just kill the guy.

“He won't talk,” says Jensen, as if he's reading Jeff's mind. “Too deep in the business to rat and besides,” he smirks. “He'd have to explain what he was doing here.” He's standing with his back to Jeff, wrists together like he's waiting for Jeff to do the honors.

It's all a little too casual and Jeff's nonplussed but he crosses over and cuffs the kid anyway, no reason to make it more difficult than it has to be.

They leave the apartment and the trick unconscious on the floor. Jensen motions with his chin at the set of keys hanging next to the door and Jeff takes them as they go.

He'd planned to toss Jensen in the trunk; he'd even brought chloroform and a hood, but Jensen stands next to the passenger side door like it's some kind of date. He isn't wearing any shoes and his chest is bare and it's cold out. Jeff sighs. Either he sucks at kidnapping or Jensen's been around the block.

He unlocks the back seat and helps Jensen in.

“Thanks,” he says.

Jeff climbs behind the wheel and pulls into traffic. “Get in the foot well,” he says. “And stay down.”

Looking in the rear view mirror, he can see that Jensen obeys. It's silent for a stretch and then Jensen, shifting and grunting, says, “Is it far? Your hideout? Because these cuffs are seriously uncomfortable.”

“Shut up,” says Jeff.

“Can I assume that my dad pissed you off?”

Jeff turns on the stereo. He signals and then pulls onto the freeway.

“How much are you asking in ransom?” Jensen asks at the top of his voice.

Caving, Jeff flicks the stereo down, says, “Your dad is a vicious son of a bitch and I'm gonna make him feel what it's like to lose something he loves.”

Jensen snorts. “If you think kidnapping me is gonna do it, you got another think coming my friend. Seriously, how much you asking for?”

“Five million, or I start sending him pieces.”

Sputtering, Jensen says, “Oh dude, you are so fucked. Alan won't even deal for less than ten. Besides, I'm insured for twenty. And also, a little insulted. Five million? What is this, amateur hour?”

Jeff swerves across three lanes of traffic and pulls into the breakdown lane. He gets out and goes around to the back door, pulling it open. Jensen's sitting on his hands, head resting against the back of the driver's seat. He's arching an eyebrow as if daring Jeff to hit him.

“You might think it's funny,” he says, tearing up a shirt into strips. “You might even be a spoiled little rich kid who gets everything he wants, but some of us work hard for what we get, and when men like Alan Ackles come in and piss on it, it gets us a little upset. If he doesn't give a shit about you, then I guess it's just too bad for you. I'm gonna have fun carving you into pieces.”

He shoves a rolled up wad of cloth into Jensen's mouth and then ties the rest around his face to make a secure gag. For the first time all night, Jensen looks a little terrified.

Good, Jeff thinks, giving him a grin. He pitches his voice low when he says, “You look good like that, all bound and helpless. Who knows, maybe we'll find another way to make money off you.”

And then he slams the door and gets back on the road. He cranks up the radio and spends the rest of the drive in relative peace.

*

He's not an idiot, he makes sure to double back and take side roads. It isn't that far to the warehouse he'd prepped, but he makes sure the ride takes hours. This has the added benefit of scaring Jensen some more, Jeff can tell, when he finally hauls his prize up off the floor of the car.

Jeff shoves him into a corner and indicates a chair. Jensen sits, glowering at him over the gag.

“You gonna talk if I take the gag out?” he says, waving the Glock in a manner that he'd personally found threatening when he'd practiced in front of a mirror. He does a decent De Niro, in fact, and is pretty sure it's coming across now because Jensen's shaking his head no.

He pulls out the gag and Jensen coughs, hacking up spit.

“Want some water?” he says, and Jensen nods. When he tilts the bottle to Jensen's lips, he gets another look, but Jensen acquiesces, leaning back and letting Jeff pour the water down his throat.

“You really gonna kill me?” says Jensen, and his voice is rough.

Jeff takes a long inhale. Shoulders slumping, he says, “Probably not. It's not in my plans, anyway. But I'll tell ya, you don't make it easy on a guy.”

And just like that, a flip switches and Jensen's all leering bravado as he slumps in his chair, legs spread wide. “It's no fun when it's easy,” he says, and Jeff figures that right about here is where he loses control of the situation. “You already call in the demand? Where's the drop point?”

“Hold your horses, there, cowboy, you aren't a partner in this,” Jeff says. “You're the bait.”

“I'm telling you,” he says. “Alan's not gonna play ball with an amateur.”

“And you're, what? Offering to help?” Jeff crosses the room and drags a chair back in front of Jensen. He sits down heavily, already exhausted by all of this.

Shrugging, Jensen says, “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Look, whatever my dad did to you, I'm gonna take a guess and say it was a dick move and probably illegal. But,” Jensen says, and leans forward. “I'm also guessing that you're not exactly a legit businessman yourself.” He arches an eyebrow at Jeff and Jeff has to concede that he's right. He nods and Jensen continues, “Plenty of people wouldn't shed a tear if Alan Ackles disappeared. I'm one of them.”

He says the last part with the kind of conviction rarely heard outside of victims declaring their happiness at a murderer receiving the death penalty.

But while Jeff maybe used to be a sucker, he's not anymore. “What's in it for you?” he asks.

Jensen leans back in the chair, the handcuffs rattling against the seat. He smirks when he says, “It'll be a power vacuum, total gang warfare if someone doesn't step in to take control. You look like a nice guy and all, but I don't think you got the chops to muscle in on the territory that'll be up for grabs. You're gonna need an inside man.”

Jeff thinks about it. It's an unexpected offer, one that would more than redress what he's lost. But: “And how do I know that you won't just turn around and gank me?”

“You don't,” Jensen says, and looks at him level. “Same way I don't know you won't turn on me. Hell, I don't even know who you are.”

And yet, Jeff thinks, he's trying to make a deal. The enemy of your enemy, et cetera.

“Jeff,” Jeff says. “Morgan.” He's fiddling with the Glock and he realizes that it's maybe overkill at this point. He flicks the safety back on and tucks the gun into the back of his jeans. “Numbers syndicate on the East side. Your dad flipped a pigeon in my operation, got him to turn state's and then knocked off my lieutenant.”

“Yeah,” says Jensen. “He's been after the East side for years. Well, Jeff Morgan, what do you say? Fifty-fifty split?” The way he looks as he says it reminds Jeff of how he'd looked when Jeff had busted into his place: confident and turned on; Jeff wonders if he's got a stiffie talking about killing his old man. He checks and sure enough, Jensen's splayed out in his chair, half hard and not hiding it. He's still naked from the waist up and Jeff considers sweetening the pot a little.

“I'll think about it,” he says, and lets his posture mirror Jensen's. “Dunno if I'm interested in taking over the whole empire.”

Jensen licks his lips and smiles. “Split it up however you want. I can handle the rest.”

Smirking, Jeff says, “Yeah, I bet you can handle it.”

They're looking at each other and the the air starts to crackle, as if Jensen's not only aware of what else is on the table, he's actively inviting Jeff to dig in. Jeff clears his throat and gets up, saying, “Still got a little matter of ransom to attend to.” And heads out to the larger warehouse space, locking the door behind him.

He makes a call to his second in command, telling him to send the note, only double the price. Aside from the fact of Jensen himself, the plan had been meticulously planned and—so far—executed. Jeff lights a cigarette and leans against the wall, waiting for confirmation of his terms.

As he smokes he wonders what to do about Jensen. The gun is a cold weight against the small of his back.

He's thinking and smoking and, he realizes, rubbing his erection through his jeans. That about sums up what can be done with the kid: fuck him or kill him. Or fuck him _and then_ kill him. There's no way Jeff trusts a word out his mouth.

But that doesn't mean he can't have a little fun with him anyway.

His phone buzzes and the terms have been agreed upon: ten million in cash at a drop to be specified, pending proof of life. Jeff smirks. He'll give Ackles proof of life. Proof of a little something more in the bargain.

As he opens the door he can hear Jensen's cuffs clanking, accompanied by the grunting effort of a man trying to slip out of restraints. Jeff pulls the gun out of his jeans.

“Having fun, Houdini?” he says, sauntering in and closing the door with his heel. He locks it and Jensen's giving him a flat look.

“Gotta try,” he says.

Jeff yanks on the links between Jensen's wrists; they're holding. “Been through this a lot?”

“Which part, the cuffs or the kidnapping?” Jensen says, and it makes Jeff laugh. Kid's got balls.

“Your daddy know you're into it?”

“Which part?” he says again, barely holding back a grin.

“Touche,” says Jeff. He takes the tripod off a shelf and starts extending the legs. “Thanks for the advice, by the way. Upped it to ten.” When it's fully extended he stands the tripod on the floor and Jensen looks wary, but his bravado holds.

“Now he knows you're serious,” he says.

Pulling a video camera from a bag in the corner, Jeff's pushing buttons as he says, “Wants proof you're alive.”

“Standard procedure.”

“Figure we got a couple of hours before they start to sweat,” says Jeff. “Plenty of time.”

Out of the corner of his eye he can see that Jensen's not as cool as he's trying to be: breath coming fast and a light sheen on his neck. It looks good on him. Jeff stamps down the urge to smirk.

“You got today's paper?” Jensen asks, shifting back in his seat.

“I was thinking something a little different,” Jeff says, angling the lens so that the only thing in frame is Jensen's face.

As he straightens up he directs a look at Jensen that shouldn't be too hard to interpret. Jensen gets it, Jeff figures, because he says, bluffing insouciance, “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I was thinking,” Jeff says, hitting record. “That you looked good getting your dick sucked. Bet you look even better with one in your mouth.” And he unzips his jeans.

Jensen rears back, eyes on Jeff's face; he shakes his head slightly in negation but Jeff cuts him off. “Come on now, where's your negotiation skills? Fifty-fifty, right?”

Eyes big as Jeff gets closer, Jensen says, “Seriously?” It comes out tremulous with nerves; the kid talks a big game.

Jeff reaches out, fingers caressing the back of Jensen's neck and he watches as Jensen's eyes close. Watches him swallow and look up. He darts a tongue out to lick his lips and Jeff smiles, cards a hand through his hair.

“I know you want to put on a show for Daddy,” Jeff says, and Jensen darts a glance to the camera. “Know you been playing with me.”

He kicks the leg of the chair sideways so that Jensen's in profile to the camera and he peels his jeans back, cock springing free. He strokes it once, watching as Jensen's mouth drifts open. He looks up, one long hard stare at Jeff; Jeff doesn't drop his eyes.

“Let's go,” says Jensen and Jeff strokes it again as Jensen holds eye contact and leans forward, taking the head of Jeff's dick in his mouth.

And he's good at it, no surprise. He takes Jeff's dick deep, no gag reflex, no teeth. It's a textbook blowjob, and Jeff's had a few. Jensen's tongue never stops even as he sucks harder, not even when Jeff guides his head back and starts to fuck his mouth in short thrusts. He's straddling Jensen's chest and Jensen's mouth is stretched wide around Jeff's dick; he's looking up, drooling at the corners. Jeff watches him, razorwire down his spine when their eyes connect. He speeds up, twists the fingers in Jensen's hair until Jensen whimpers. It's a soft, warm hole and Jeff blisses out, pumping into Jensen's mouth with grunts and curses, changing angles to pick up speed until he's right on the edge and he says, “Fuck.” He pulls out and jacks off onto Jensen's neck and chest.

Jensen's gasping for air as Jeff groans, one of the best orgasms of recent memory wringing him out.

He shakes the last few drops of spunk off the end of his dick. They land with a splat on Jensen's stomach. “Thanks, kid,” he says.

Jensen's still panting, but his lips attempt a smirk. “You only wish you could get head as good as me. Had to tie me up to get a taste.”

“Reverse psychology usually work for you in these situations?” Jeff's zipping up his jeans as he leans down and gets in Jensen's face. “You ain't getting out of the handcuffs yet, but.” He looks down at Jensen's dick, which is hard and pushing at his fly. “You do look uncomfortable. Maybe we can do something about that.” He straightens up and rests a booted foot in the V of Jensen's legs, pressing down lightly on Jensen's erection.

Jensen hisses, face contorted in a grimace, as he bucks up into Jeff's boot. “Shit,” he says.

“Look at you,” Jeff says. “Covered in spunk, humping my leg like a dog in heat. Wanna show Daddy what a dirty little boy you are?”

Jensen's head rolls back and because his hands are behind his back, it pushes his chest out, most of his weight supported by his thighs, trembling on either side of Jeff's leg. “Come on, sweetheart, gimme a show. Rub yourself off and maybe we'll see about loosening those bonds.”

Jensen snarls at him, pure hatred in his eyes, but he does it. He's too far gone, if Jeff knows anything, to care about debasing himself. He just wants to get off.

“That's it, come on. Show me how bad you want to be partners. Fuck yourself good.” Jeff rests an elbow against his propped up knee, back to playing with the Glock, flicking the slide back and forth. Jensen's eyes focus on it and Jeff smiles. “That turn you on, baby? Like it when it's dangerous?”

He makes sure the safety's on and then he drags the muzzle up Jensen's arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Jensen shudders, hips working hard in a singleminded goal. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, like it's being ripped out of his throat.

Jeff trails the muzzle over one corded shoulder and then down through the mess of his come on Jensen's chest. He presses the tip against a peaked nipple and Jensen makes a broken sound, sweat pouring freely now. Jeff watches his face as he aims the gun lower, lower, tickling the hair on Jensen's stomach and when it stops at his jeans, Jensen comes, shouting hoarse and riding Jeff's boot.

“Very nice,” Jeff says, and stands up. Jensen's heaving breath, face red in anger or in lust, Jeff doesn't care. “You're pretty like this.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen spits. Jeff looks down at the spreading dampness at his crotch. Jensen turns away, right into the camera lens. His mouth's open and he looks debauched. Jeff switches the camera off.

“Think that's enough proof of life, or should we do it again?” When he looks over, Jensen makes an attempt to compose himself.

“You're running this show,” he says, low and dangerous.

“Oh, sweetheart, don't be like that. Wanna make sure it's good for you, too.” Jeff pops the SD card out of its slot and slips it in his jeans. He heads over to the sink and wets a rag, bringing it back to clean Jensen up.

As he's slopping it over Jensen's chest he bends low and whispers in Jensen's ear, “That how you play, kid? Because that's not just fucking around.”

Jensen looks away as Jeff finishes up and Jeff frowns. He rinses the rag out and brings it back, this time he makes sure his hands are gentle. “Here,” he says, and unbuttons Jensen's jeans. “Slide these off.”

Jensen lifts up for him and Jeff tugs the jeans and his underwear off, taking the socks along with him and now Jensen's completely naked. Jeff kneels down and starts wiping Jensen's thighs, and then, more gently, his spent cock, his balls. When he looks up Jensen's just staring at him. Jeff takes a deep breath and stands, tossing the rag in the sink.

“You really gonna send that to Alan?” He's watching Jeff pace the room. “Because you know you're probably in the shot, too.”

“What makes you think your dad doesn't know who did this? What makes you think I'm trying to hide it?”

Jensen plants his feet flat on the concrete floor. “Thought you said you weren't looking to take on the empire.”

“I want to string that motherfucker's guts along the highway,” Jeff says, a stab of anger all over again at what that cocksucker had done. “If it means war, then so be it.” He lights a cigarette, drags it in deep.

“You'll get war, all right. You'll get fucking Afghanistan. I don't think you can possibly know the kind of hell that is about to rain down on your head.”

“Hm,” says Jeff, taking another drag. “Still wanna be partners?”

Jensen looks at him, needle-sharp. “If I had the muscle? I'd have killed the bastard years ago.” He rolls his head on his neck like it's stiff. Probably is.

“You off your meal ticket, no more soft cushy condos or tricks on demand.” Jeff stubs his cigarette out under a bootheel and paces back to face Jensen, leaning against the table edge.

Snorting, Jensen says, “That prick hasn't given me a dime in years. More to the point, I haven't taken a dime of his blood money, so.”

That's interesting. Jeff crosses his arms and waits for Jensen to continue. Jensen rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, all right? We disapprove of each others' lifestyles. But that isn't all of it. You know how he got his start?”

Jeff shrugs half a shoulder. He's heard things, but you can't trust what you hear on the street. “How?”

“He was a pimp. And then he diversified.” Jensen smirks. “Into selling crack to school kids. He's a piece of human garbage and I'm serious that if he wasn't who he is, I'd have done the world a favor a long time ago. But he's impossible to get close to, believe me. The feds have tried, other gangs.” He shrugs. “Alan Ackles is untouchable.”

“Except by you,” Jeff says, leading.

“Maybe.”

“Hnh.” Jeff's scratching his beard when there's a knock at the door. Jeff picks the gun up off the table instinctively.

“Hey boss, you okay in there?” It's Justin. Jeff tucks the gun in his jeans.

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “Not finished yet. Go back to your card game.” When he turns back to Jensen, it's fairly obvious that Jensen has a kink for firearms. Jeff arches an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Jensen shrugs, looking at his dick, which is swelling again. He's flushed, but he says, “We all got something, right?”

Jeff watches as Jensen shifts in the chair. He's got to be uncomfortable, it's been hours. Speculatively, he says, “If your old man was out of the picture, what would you do?”

Frowning at the floor, Jensen says, “First of all I'd get rid of the drugs.”

“And lose half your base.”

“Maybe,” Jensen says. “But I'd also lose like ninety-nine percent of the risk. Keeping his territory is what's gonna kill Alan one of these days. And there's other ways to make money.”

“Like what?”

“Like, legal protection rackets. Or at least, semi-legal. Invest in strip clubs and run numbers out the back. Put a brothel upstairs so the girls are safe. This penny-ante pimp racket bullshit is inefficient, and worse, the attrition rate for whores is astronomical.”

Jeff stares at the kid. He's bare ass naked, cuffed to a chair in a concrete warehouse and he's talking about the return on investment for prostitutes? Maybe he _does_ know something. Involuntarily, he chuckles.

Jensen looks up, abashed. “What?”

“I guess you're not just a pretty ass. You got a brain after all.” Jeff gets up off the table and starts pacing again.

“It pays to make sure people don't expect anything from you,” he says.

“Guess so,” says Jeff. “So let me ask you: if you got this all figured out, why haven't you made a move?”

When it's silent for too long he turns around and Jensen's staring at him, eyebrow arched like Jeff is the dumbest kid in class.

“What?”

“Like I said, if I could get the muscle. You know how many thugs are willing to take orders from faggots? Zero, that's how many.”

Jeff considers it. Kid's got a point. He's kept his own inclinations in check for a very long time. This whole thing tonight had been kind of...spur of the moment, truth to tell.

“You know what I got?” he says, walking to the sink and then coming back to face Jensen. “I got plenty of muscle. I got most of the East side—or what's left of it—along with a small arsenal in the valley.”

“Yeah?” Jensen's leaning in his chair again, legs spread wide, dick hard the whole time they've been talking. If he'd been brought down a peg before, he's long since forgotten about it. Jeff can see the gleam in his eye.

“Yeah,” says Jeff.

“But what you don't got is an inside man.”

Nodding, Jeff says, “Right. Or ten million dollars.”

Jensen's nodding, too. “I think I know a way to fix that,” he says, and he smirks.

The End

* * *


End file.
